


Paper Trail

by PepperPrints



Series: Magnum Opus [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the encounter at the Spencer Estate, Chris goes looking for answers from Project Wesker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Trail

**Author's Note:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: radio-cassette player. Warnings for implications of child abuse (physical and psychological). Apologies for taking such great liberties with the Wesker Children.

 “You won't find any answers here.”

 

Chris narrowed his eyes into a glare, and that seemed to serve as enough to dissuade the man from making any more comments. Most of their researchers didn't feel like arguing with a war hero, even if he was cluttering up their department. “Well, that's all the information we could find on Project Wesker, combined with the new research from the Spencer Estate,” he continued, setting down the box and the paperwork for Chris to sign out. “But I don't know what you--”

 

“Thank you,” interrupted Chris shortly, and he took the box under his arm and left to find some privacy.

 

Though he hated to admit it, the man in the archives had been right. This wasn't anything that would really put his mind at ease – in fact, it only served to bother him even more, but Chris read on.

 

Whatever Albert Wesker's birth name had been, it didn't matter much. Along with hundreds of other children, he had been kidnapped for Oswell Spencer's twisted designs. They were tested, conditioned and bred to be superior, and they never even knew what was happening to them.

 

The papers were all things Chris had heard before, but then there were the tapes. They were older, obviously being recorded all those years ago. The player looked dusty, worn, but at the time, he was sure it counted as Spencer being top of the line with his research.

 

Chris slipped the first tape inside and let it play. Spencer's voice, younger and livelier than what Chris knew, went on to describe what Chris had read summarized in the papers. The only real difference were Spencer's own personal observations and opinions, which were all sickening sentiments about the promise of the project, talking about the children like specimens rather than real human beings, who he had taken from their real families to twist into this parody of his own.

 

Chris stopped the tape, pulled it out, and he noticed that labels marked each one. He thumbed through the group, until one caught his eye.

 

Albert and Alex.

 

He really should have waited, and listened to each tape one by one. That would be the thorough thing to do. But... this was the reason he was looking at these things, so he might as well jump to it. Chris popped the tape into the player, and he listened.

 

“It appears we will have to make a slight change in our arrangements,” Spencer announced, his voice sighing and regretful. “While I would enjoy having each of the Wesker children here with me, under my personal watch and tutelage... it seems for the best that they be separated.

 

“There was an... incident today,” said Spencer regretfully, pausing before saying the word, and not without some distaste. “Between Alex and Albert, and I am not sure what would have happened if there hadn't been a caretaker present to interfere.”

 

Spencer then went on about the arrangements to move the children, where they were going and why, but that didn't concern Chris right now. He pressed the key to fast forward, waiting several seconds before he clicked play again.

 

“-- talk to Albert personally, to hear him recount the events from last night.” There was a small click in the tape, where recording had been stopped and started again. “Hello, Albert.”

 

Chris sat forward, and his thumb brushed over the volume, turning it higher. “Hello, father,” came the reply, and the voice was nothing the one like Chris knew. Wesker would have only been... what? Eight? It wasn't any surprise. His accent was thicker too. Chris doubted he had even seen America yet.

 

“Albert,” Spencer continued. “I would like to tell me what happened yesterday.”

 

Even at this fraction of his age, Chris recognized the drawl that followed. “I believe you already know what happened, father.”

 

“Don't be bold, Albert,” chided Spencer, and his tone was mild enough, but there was something icy in it as well. “I'd like to hear it in your own words.”

 

There was a pause, and all Chris could only hear was the whirling tape for several seconds before the child spoke up again. “I was having my piano lesson,” he began calmly. “It was nearing the end of class and I was performing the piece we had studied for my teacher when we were interrupted.”

 

“By Alex,” supplied Spencer shortly. Another pause came, presumably when the child nodded, and Spencer seemed quick to prompt him. “And?”

 

“And,” he continued, “because of his intrusion my fingers slipped, and I was chastised for it.” Chris knew what that meant, and Wesker or not, Chris couldn't help a frown.

 

Spencer made a thoughtful sound. “Mistakes are punished, Albert,” he said simply.

 

“But I did not make a mistake,” the boy snapped – he actually snapped. Chris could recognize the anger in his tone. “It was not my fault I was interrupted. It was Alex.”

 

“Hm,” intoned Spencer lowly, “and so you punished him then?”

 

Chris stilled, staring at the player, and he turned the volume to its highest when Spencer continued speaking. “I asked you a question, Albert.”

 

“He insulted me,” said Wesker, and his voice was near a whisper. Chris moved the recorder way too close, pressing it against his cheek. “He told me with mistakes such as that, I might as well stop trying – and that he was a far better pupil than I anyway. He said I could barely compete.

 

“So I broke his fingers.”

 

Chris froze and when all too familiar laughter was in the undertone of the boy's voice he had to turn the player off. There wasn't much tape left anyway. He took it out and tossed it back into the box, scowling to himself.

 

He ought to stop there, before he got any deeper, but his gaze wandered back to the pile of tapes, and he slowly began sorting through them again. They were labeled in combinations of names, titles and subjects, and he began to sort them into little piles.

 

He stared at them for a long moment, debating, before he picked another tape: Felicia and Albert.

 

There was no introduction by Spencer this time. When Chris clicked play and a soft, feminine voice immediately came out. “Hello, father.”

 

“Hello, Felicia,” responded Spencer, full of false warmth, and it made Chris feel sick. “I'd like to talk about your brother, Albert.”

 

“Certainly,” she replied, full of proper manner and utterly polite. Chris could somehow make a picture of her just by her voice. “But you know, father, that we are not truly siblings.”

 

Spencer gave a small sound at that, obviously taken off guard. If he didn't want kids seeing through him, Chris mused, he shouldn't have decided to raise geniuses. “By blood, no you are not,” he agreed, “is that why you felt it would be permissible to kiss him?”

 

Chris was honestly startled, wondering if he ought to have checked if the tapes were labeled by year, but Felicia was soon responding. “I like Albert very much, father,” she said plainly. “When people fancy each other, the impression is that they kiss. I wanted to try it, and Albert did as well. I asked his permission every time and he was always agreeable to the idea.”

 

“Is that so?” hummed Spencer, clearly not expecting an answer. “What did you expect to happen, then?”

 

“How do you mean, father?” Felicia asked. “I find Albert's company to be quite agreeable. Should this continue, he would be quite the proper husband, I suspect.” The way she spoke of it was so mechanical that Chris was left in awe. She couldn't have been very old. Eleven at most? Wesker had spoken in the same way, and it was unnerving. “We already have the same last name”

 

To Chris's surprise, Spencer actually laughed at that. “Felicia,” he said patiently, all humor lost at once. “That isn't possible, because you and Albert are not like other people.” Chris figured that was an understatement. “You are above such things. Those attachments are weak. Intimacy is petty and love is childish. You needn't concern yourself with it. Do you understand?”

 

Chris felt his jaw clench, and Felicia took a long pause before responding. “Yes, father, I understand.”

 

“Good,” said Spencer firmly. “We'll talk more about this later, but for tonight you may go – and send in your brother as you leave.”

 

There was a series of clicks as the recording started and stopped again. “Hello, Albert,” greeted Spencer. “We're going to talk about your sister, Felicia, if you wouldn't mind.”

 

“I wouldn't mind at all,” replied Albert civilly.

 

“Very good. So,” Spencer began, and Chris for the first time heard a scratch of pen against paper. “When did Felicia first ask to kiss you, Albert?”

 

There was no hesitation in the response, and Chris found that oddly unsettling. “Last Tuesday, when we had our English class,” he said. “Our teacher was planning to go home with her husband, and he arrived early to pick her up. When the lesson ended, they kissed and left together.”

 

Chris had a big hunch that woman did not keep her job after this. “Felicia remarked on it afterward,” he continued, “and she asked if she could kiss me similarly.”

 

Spencer's pen was moving again, and then he spoke. “And you agreed,” concluded Spencer, “did you enjoy it?”

 

That question made Chris's skin crawl, and given the pause maybe the one it was directed at felt similarly. “It was pleasant enough, I suppose,” he said simply.

 

“Enough that you kissed her more than once afterward, at her invitation.” The more Spencer spoke, the more unnerved Chris felt by it. Compared to how he addressed Felicia, this seemed so much more... direct. Confrontational.

 

Regardless, while Chris felt put off, the boy continued rather mildly, either not realizing or not caring about the matter. “I was curious,” he answered. “Intimacy seems so highly sought out, and I wanted to see if there was some reason for it.”

 

“And?” prompted Spencer, and there was a rustling that Chris could not recognize.

 

“And,” said Wesker calmly. “For all the talk that goes around, I found it lacking.” That sounded about right. Chris frowned, sinking back in his seat.

 

“As you should have,” agreed Spencer, his tone almost near delight. “You're steps ahead of your siblings, Albert. You've already grown out of these childish habits. I'm very proud.” Never had praise seemed so revolting. Chris cringed internally and set the player down, since actually touching it now made him feel unpleasant by association. “It truly is an overrated exercise.”

 

“I thought perhaps I was missing some particular way to make the matter more pleasing,” Albert continued. “Though Felicia appeared to enjoy it.”

 

“Felicia said you would make a fine husband,” remarked Spencer, and Chris stirred at that. How often did Spencer try to use them against one another? Did he try to encourage them to their full potential by providing them with competition between each other?

 

“Perhaps,” he said, and his voice seemed distant. “But I don't imagine so. I don't picture myself with any such qualities.”

 

“Really, Albert?” Chris wasn't shocked, but Spencer sounded like he was. “And why is that?”

 

The boy spoke rather plainly, matter-of-factly. “It doesn't suit me.”

 

“Mh,” intoned Spencer, a soft clatter indicating that he set his pen down. “No, I should think not. You're suited to much greater things, aren't you, Albert?”

 

“I would hope so, father,” responded Albert, humbly enough that Chris didn't buy it for one second.

 

“In that case, you can't afford any weaknesses,” Spencer said firmly. “This would be the worst one: attachments. You can't help who may become infatuated with you, or who you may feel drawn to in return, but do not succumb to this. No matter who it may be, it will only hurt you. If you want to reach your full potential, do not waste yourself on such trivial things. You don't need anyone else but yourself to achieve greatness. Do you understand?”

 

“Of course, father,” he replied, and something in his voice sounded tired somehow.

 

The tape cut off, and he popped it out, tossing it back in the pile. Chris waited for a moment, debating, before he searched for another tape. His eyes focused on one that was simply labeled 'Albert' and he picked it up. There was a satisfying click as he popped it into place, and then another click as he felt pressure against his temple.

 

“I would put it down, Chris.”

 

His entire body felt frozen, and he very quickly ran through every option that he had – and there weren't many. He had found a secluded spot for a reason, and now he was paying for it, but how could he have expected this? His heartbeat jumped and he stayed very still. Wesker had come for this evidence, hadn't he? Because there was something... compromising hidden within it.

 

“Is there something you don't want me to hear?” he asked boldly. “You could shoot me.” Wesker could have killed him any time he wanted, frankly. Chris never knew what it was that made him hold back.

 

Chris curled his thumb down against play, and he lost sight of everything when the magnum whipped him hard across his face. He crashed to the floor and the recorder fell with him, clattering down and skidding out of sight, still playing.

 

“Hello, Albert.”

 

“Hello, father.”

 

Chris scrambled to his feet, quick enough to see a bullet hole in the floor where he was not two seconds before. His nose was bleeding, probably broken by the strike, and he fumbled for his gun.

 

“Albert, I have a question for you, and this may seem strange, but I want your honesty.”

 

Chris fired out three shots, and Wesker vanished like smoke in front of every one. He was just too fast. He proved it as he dashed forward, and his hand seized tight around Chris's throat.

 

“Tell me, Albert, do you love me?”

 

“What?”

 

Even through his struggle, through the panic, the cassette player was loud and impossible to ignore – especially when it gave Wesker pause as well. The grip on Chris's throat wasn't quite as tight as it could have been, certainly enough to restrain, but not enough to strangle.

 

“It's a simple question, Albert, do you love your father?”

 

“I... I told you this when you asked before.”

 

It occurred to Chris that never in his life had he heard Wesker stammer like that. Wesker was hesitating now too, his attention torn, and Chris could tell he was debating upturning tables to find where the player fell. This was different than the other tapes. This wasn't questioning; this was conditioning. The questions persisted, and the boy's voice quickly became more urgent.

 

“You do, don't you?”

 

“I already told you...!” Within it, there was a primal fear of having it say so twice.

 

Between the recording and Chris, Wesker chose the former. He threw Chris to the ground, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and he groaned weakly.

 

“You'll come and find me then, won't you? You wouldn't let your father die, would y--”

 

The recorder was smashed with one sharp drop of Wesker's boot. Chris winced at the sound of it, his vision hazy, but he could see Wesker bending, picking up the shattered pieces, and throwing it back into the box with all the rest. He walked slowly now, back to where Chris was thrown to the floor, and a sharp kick kept him down when he attempted to struggle.

 

“What were you trying to accomplish, Chris?” he asked, and his lips turned upward. “Did you mourn to hear the blackening of my heart?”

 

The tone of Wesker's voice was sickly and it churned his stomach. Through the pain in his face and his chest, Chris somehow managed to find the strength to speak. “Didn't have one in the first place,” he accused coldly.

 

“Perhaps not,” replied Wesker plainly, and he cocked his head, looking down at Chris almost curiously. “What all did you hear?”

 

Chris debated lying, but he responded honestly. “About Alex,” he responded, “and Felicia.”

 

An odd expression came over Wesker then, like a gradual realization, and Chris was left to wonder if he would have remembered those names on his own without being prompted. The memories must have been buried so far back, almost beyond reach. Wesker probably didn't even want them – that was why he took the research, to erase that his life in that time had ever existed.

 

“Never loved a thing in your life,” said Chris coldly. Not like him, and not like Jill, who had been taken away all because of Wesker.

 

“There seems to be plenty of evidence of that,” agreed Wesker, his voice low and strangely intimate. He knelt down suddenly, causing Chris to tense, and his gloved hand cupped his chin. In one very slow, smooth motion, Wesker's thumb brushed through the blood dripping from Chris's broken nose, smearing it across his lips. “And yet I continue to allow your pitiful existence.”

 

Chris paused, his eyes wide and his body very still. What? Before he could begin to question that out loud, Wesker rose to his feet, drawing away.

 

“I'm taking these,” Wesker told him, nodding slightly toward the box, “you should think more carefully about your next actions, and perhaps aim towards self-preservation. Goodbye, Chris.”

 

As quickly as he came, Wesker vanished, and Chris was left struggling on the floor. He wiped his hand across his bloodied face, and he stared hazily in the direction where Wesker had disappeared.

 

He got the answers he was looking for after all; they were just to different questions.


End file.
